


Trim Your Feathers Down

by Ias



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ias/pseuds/Ias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel adjusts to human life, including the need for a haircut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trim Your Feathers Down

Cas is pretty good at being human. The guy is millions of years old, so really that shouldn’t surprise anyone; he’s been de-powered before, and still managed to hold his own both in supernatural brawls and on the public transit system. Even before that he’s spent millennia observing humanity in its day-to-day existence. But there’s a difference between knowledge and experience; the little things that slip through the cracks, constant reminders that Cas is not meant to be earthbound.

For example: he doesn’t know his shoe size. His taste buds are as hypersensitive as a five-year-old’s, which makes the constant meals at sketchy diners a trial (Dean tries to cook for him whenever they’re in the Bat cave. Sam scoffs at how domestic he’s gotten. It’s a thing now). He doesn’t know his physical limits, or what kind of music he likes, or how to deal with allergies or winter. It’s a steep learning curve, to say the least, and there’s not much Dean can do except help as best he can and be there for the fallout.

“It’s just…difficult.” Cas’s voice is a tickle against Dean’s neck as they lay in the early morning hours. “I was going to be forever. Millions, billions of years. And now when I look forward, there’s nothing.” He presses his forehead to Dean’s shoulder and lets out a long breath. Dean tightens his grip on his waist like it’s enough to keep him from floating away. 

He can’t deny that part of him, a selfish, greedy part of him, is glad that he can have Cas like this. He’d never get to make powered-up Cas breakfast, or know what his face looks like while he sleeps. He’s so incredibly, insanely happy, happier than he can remember being, and he knows that Cas is happy too—but there will always be some part of him that reaches out for all the parts of himself he had lost.

“How do you do you live with it?” Cas murmurs, his voice slow with sleep. “With nothing in front of you, coming up so fast.” 

The fan above the bed thrashes the air, providing a low drone which fills the silence that stretches out between them. It’s warm, and it’s safe, but the question weighs on Dean’s mind more than it probably should. “You do like everyone else does,” He says after a long minute. “You live in the past.”

There’s nothing but silence after that, and when Dean cranes his neck around to look into Castiel’s face, the other man—and he is a man now, that much Dean knows—is asleep.

Time wears on, the one thing Dean has always been able to count on. Cas gets used to his new body like he’s breaking in a new pair of size 11 boots (“Just think of it like a one for each foot,” Dean says when Cas complains that his new meaty brain can’t retain pointless information like foot measurements). Most everything involving personal grooming (except shaving, which was a long and arduous road for Dean and Cas both) goes out the window while Cas adjusts; especially and most exceptionally when it comes to his hair.

He complains about how it tickles the back of his neck for almost a month, to which Dean replies that they can stop by a barber in any of the towns they’re passing through on hunts. They never do. 

When Cas’s hair gets so long that even Sam raises his eyebrows, Dean starts dropping hints more aggressively. “It’ll get in your eyes when a hunt,” Dean says. “You’ll spend more money on shampoo. You’ll look like 90’s Tony Stark with a mullet.” 

“Dean, I just learned how to tie my shoelaces in under two minutes,” Cas said irritably. “Discovering hair fashion can wait.” As it turns out, it can wait exactly two and a half more weeks. The first day that Cas steps out of the motel bathroom with his lengthening tuft of hair pulled back into a ponytail, Dean puts his foot down.

“You,” he says. “Bathroom. Now.” 

Cas glanced around warily, his eyes narrowing. “Why?” 

Dean sighs. Back when he first fell, Cas had listened to everything Dean had said and then done it. At first it had been okay, because Cas needed some sort of direction in his newly abbreviated existence and Dean was happy to give it to him. But as soon as Cas had the basics of human life down, he started pushing him to think for himself. Cas had excelled at questioning authority in a way which was totally unsurprising. 

He pulls out the pair of scissors he had tucked into his pocket. “We’re going to remove that awful thing growing out of the back of your head before it becomes self-aware. Now get on the linoleum.” 

“The probability of a mass of keratin gaining sentience is extremely low,” Castiel says with a glower. 

“Ha ha. Glad to see you’ve been growing out your sense of humor as well.” Castiel shoots him another look, but he troops past Dean and into the dingy motel bathroom anyways. Dean follows shortly after. It’s a small space, but Cas sits on the closed toilet and Dean squeezes in. They’re used to closeness these days.

“Okay, turn around,” he says. Castiel obliges, but he keeps his eyes fixed on Dean’s in the mirror. They’re different eyes than the ones Dean had gotten used to in the eternity it seems he’s known Castiel. Back then he might see curiosity, arrogance, or maybe even fondness staring back at him. Now he just looks tired, and maybe a little resigned. 

“How will this work?” Cas asked. 

“You don’t move, and I try not to chop your ear off,” Dean says. When his fingers alight on the rubber band (Christ Cas, really) in his hair, Dean sees his shoulders tense. With a rueful smile he squeezes him gently just above the clavicle. 

“Hey Cas, it’s okay. No nerve endings, remember?” 

“There are certainly nerve endings in my scalp,” Castiel chimes in.

“I’ll be extra careful then.” With a snip, Dean cuts the band out of his hair—he’s not even going to try to wrestle it out—and let the rest of it fall over Cas’s shoulders. It’s dark and wavy, and though it looks fucking ridiculous on Castiel’s head, he can’t help but admire it. 

“Is this really necessary?” Cas complains as Dean begins cutting it away. 

“It is if you want to continue having sex with me,” Dean quips, and that shuts Cas up as well as anything. They sit for a minute in a comfortable silence, filled only with the quiet snip of scissors. 

“I believe most humans just go to a barber,” Cas says.

“Yeah well, I wanted to do it myself. Plus I cut Sam’s hair for until he was fifteen, so you’re in good hands.” He pauses. “Actually, that might explain a lot more than I’m comfortable admitting about Sam’s current hairstyle decisions.”

Cas chuckles. It’s a nice sound, one that Dean looks forward to hearing more of in the future. “I like hearing about your times with Sam.”

“Hadn’t you already downloaded my life experiences straight from my brain back in the holy days?” 

“Yes. But I like hearing you talk about them.” As he’s talking, Dean sees Cas’s face change in the mirror like it usually does when he brings up heaven, pulling back into himself and hoisting up the mask that had been his angel face. It’s the kind of face Dean has learned to expect right before a serious conversation is about to take place. 

Cas meets his eyes in the mirror, forcing Dean to pause his work or risk chopping off something valuable. “You told me once that I should try living in the past.” 

Dean winces. That had not been one of his shining moments of comfort. “I was sort of joking, Cas.” 

“But not entirely.” 

Dean brushes a tuft of hair off the other man’s shoulder. If he’d known this was about to become feelings hour he would have taken Cas to a barber after all. But here he is, and there’s no backing out now. He take a breath.

“Look, I’m really not the right person to ask on how to live life to the fullest. That’s probably pretty obvious by now. But I think the best you can do is try to hold on to your good memories when the future looks too bleak. So you can remember why you keep on going.”

Cas is quiet, an excuse which Dean uses to busy himself with his hair. “I do not have very many human memories to draw on,” he says. “Technically I have only been alive for a year. Everything before that serves only to remind me of my current predicament.” 

“Well then I guess we’ll have to work on making you some good memories,” Dean says after a minute, finishing off the last errant strands of hair with a snip and a reassuring smile. “There. Better?” 

“It doesn’t tickle my neck anymore,” Cas says as Dean brushes his collar clean. He leans down and presses a kiss to the back of Castiel’s neck. This is one sort of comfort he’s always been good at. “How about now?” 

“It would appear you missed a spot.” He can hear the smile in Cas’s voice.

“Oh, damn. Guess we’ll have to work at it a little longer. It’s got to be perfect, you know.” 

They’re in the bathroom for a long time. 

 

 

When Cas comes back from a grocery run the next day he finds a note on his pillow. When Cas glances around the room, Dean is conveniently nowhere in sight. Next to the note is a small bundle of his hair tied up with twine; the note card is sprawled with Dean’s messy handwriting. 

He picks it up. “Good memory #1: Cas’s first haircut.” A broad smile fighting its way onto his face, Cas turns it over in his hands to read the addendum scribbled on the back: “And the first of many to come.” 

_Oh._ He is definitely going to tease Dean about a gesture this corny. Not to mention insisting on it being a more regular occurrence. Breaking into a full-on grin, Cas pockets the gift and steps out to find where Dean is hiding. He has lots of new memories to make, after all.


End file.
